Thursday, September 20, 2012

Rings

Felled trees reveal rings of scorched bark from infernos past
and below the stump
the roots remain locked in their nursery stone
where seed had clung to split and crevice
until they grew through living rock to reach the soil

surrounding fields grow pretty with waving grasses in rich loam
to succumb to snowy blankets every winter before
and every winter after

Outside noises against inside walls
shape the morning trudge
from bed to bath to breakfast
table
chair
car
seat
desk
chair
Until the corners of her mouth break like dawn
The only smile undiminished in the flourescent lights
Unfrayed among the cowards clinging to their duty

When We Turn To Little Things
Architects, we call ourselves, as we build
big bay windows to our minds
only to draw rich red velvet curtains across them
so peeking out we can deride passersby
for their ignorance of the splendors within

Designers, we call ourselves
as we blueprint and measure and trig our way
to another reflection in a city of mirrors

Sculptors, the title vainly clutched to our chest
as hammer and chisel carve out
the same crumbling letters to make
the same flaking words as everybody else

Clever, we decide at last
that we are alone to hide in the dark and pain
with our scars and despair

Clever, because if we ventured too far we would see
that so is everybody else

Love, then, we shared as clear water from a stream
whose source unknown and destination hidden
satisfied our thirst each time we came
shuddering breaths and mouths dripping

That night you had to work and I got lost to see you
When I found my way to you a computer screen sat in for the fireplace
and I read data over your shoulder as
my hand stroked your breasts through your thin cotton shirt

We were not done becoming yet
and while we loved easily what was
neither knew the esoteric art of loving the person that did not yet exist

Because we could not see our stream
though our paths were parallel
You or I or the stream became an ocean
Vast
and hard to drink

And sunrise now does not reflect us in the water

Mornings do not find you warming naked
against my chest as we debate breakfast
or just making love to nourish other appetites